Theme weddings add intrigue

The bride wore an 18th-century-inspired outfit of red and black; and her pupils, masked behind special contact lenses, made her eyes appear entirely white.

Kevin Joy, The Columbus Dispatch

The bride wore an 18th-century-inspired outfit of red and black; and her pupils, masked behind special contact lenses, made her eyes appear entirely white.

The wedding party strode down a candlelit aisle inside an abandoned barn outfitted with tombstones, fog machines and a casket. In the background, a soundtrack of pre-recorded thunderclaps echoed.

In lieu of sealing their nuptials with a kiss, groom Paul Adkins bit his partner’s neck — or pretended to, at least, thanks to fake-blood capsules hidden in his mouth.

Although the vampire-themed affair deviated from a traditional wedding in almost every detail, the 2007 event was unforgettable.

“To this day, we still talk about how it was the best day,” said Tara Adkins, 40. “We were able to do what we wanted.”

Even though the couple had managed a Springfield-area

haunted Halloween attraction for five years until 2009, they weren’t sure how to stage a wedding with more chills than frills.

Enter Kimberly Burke, a hearse-driving, vegan-diet-following, agnostic theme-wedding planner from Galloway who assists about 25 couples a year in turning offbeat dreams into the stuff of peculiar bliss.

“It’s really about what people want to make of their day,” said Burke, 42, a pharmaceutical employee by day. “I try not to have any restrictions.”

She started her side business, Alternative Weddings, six years ago after hearing from friends about businesses and ministers unable (or unwilling) to offer personalized ceremonies.

She charges from $125 to $225 for her officiating services, which she obtained via a state license from the Ohio secretary of state, plus an ordination issued through an online church.

Some props are included, but most couples use their own.

Burke, who is unmarried and has been in a bridal party just once, doesn’t want religious or social barriers to hinder a client’s vision.

“I’m the one who usually gives the ideas — the way they could decorate, the way they could dress the other people,” she said, noting that her bookings also consist of traditional gatherings (“even in country clubs”).

Still, she ticked off a list of recent custom celebrations: a geisha-centric wedding with cherry-blossom petals and silk robes; a heavy-metal concert that doubled as a service; a ceremony based entirely around aesthetics of the controversial hip-hop duo Insane Clown Posse, with participants sporting black-and-white makeup (Burke dressed up, too, sporting baggy shorts and a jersey while giving a sermon tailored around the supposed values and slang of Posse fans known as “ juggalos.”)

Apparently, the market is there.

“Traditions and expectations are loosening up,” said Kristin Koch, senior editor for The Knot magazine, which last year added an “offbeat weddings” section to its website. “ And there are so many options now. If you want a circus wedding, you can find someone who will pull it off.”

Likewise, a joint 2010 survey by TheKnot.com and WeddingChannel.com found that 25 percent of recent brides included a theme in their ceremony, although the definition of “theme” was vague (it could range from a universal color or fabric to something on the level of Burke’s dramatics, a survey spokeswoman said).

For Saci and James Brooks — who sought a “completely secular . . . and a little goofy” wedding, Saci said — a basic affair wasn’t initially out of the question.

But the West Side couple, who had long harbored an obsession with all things pirate, changed their tune after a consultation with Burke.

“She made us feel right at ease,” said Mrs. Brooks, 30, an educational administrator.

The couple held their ceremony in April 2010 aboard the Santa Maria. Attendees dressed in pirate garb. Groomsmen toted swords and — in a move that was less than politically correct — dragged unwilling bridesmaid “wenches” to the altar.

Burke, who held a scroll made of paper wrapped around a bone, officiated and spoke in her best seafaring brogue:

Do you both swear on this sword that there be no reason why your union cannot proceed? What be ye full name and rank? What do you desire?

Mr. Brooks’ reply, not to break character: Never to tame this strumpet but to hold her dear to me heart as me matey for the rest of me days.

The feigned dramatics ensured plenty of entertainment.

“I’ve seen enough of the ‘bridezillas,’?” Mrs. Brooks said, referencing the TV series about tantrum-prone brides-to-be. “We wanted to make it as fun and unique as possible.